


Nerves

by Satine86



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Mild Angst, Romance, Suggestive Themes, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: Tom liked to think he was unflappable. At least, most of the time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse other than I recently did a rewatch and fell head over heels in love with B'Elanna and Tom all over again. 
> 
> This started with an idea while I was drifting off to sleep (isn't that how it always works?), and also the fact that while we the audience first hear Tom admit he loves B'Elanna out loud in Gravity, that boy is so dang smitten there's no way he didn't say to her WAY before then.

They told you when you started at the Academy that if you wanted to be a helmsman, really wanted to pilot a starship, you needed more than fast reflexes. You also needed a cool head. The ability to remain calm and focused under pressure, because the last thing anyone wanted was a pilot losing their shit in the middle of evasive maneuvers.

Tom had always been on the more emotional side, but he had learned long ago how to bury them down deep. To remain impassive, downright flippant in the face of turmoil. He liked to think he was unflappable. He had learned to be in his youth, and that had stuck with him through his Academy days. He had even managed to remain calm when the shuttle on Caldik Prime had been spiraling out of his control.

It was while he was sitting in the work tunnels of a glorified Vidiian prison when he found all of his hard work, all the masks he had in place, had started to crack. He was worried about B’Elanna, about what was happening to her. What might happen to her.

His palms were sweaty, clammy, and he felt a trickle of cold sweat drip down the back of his neck as he watched her gratefully gulping down water. She wasn’t weak, not like she thought she was. She was brave, braver than she gave herself credit for. In fact, he thought she was perhaps the bravest person he had never known.

What she was, though, was confused and rightfully scared. So was he. But she didn’t need him losing his shit right now. She needed him to remain calm, something grounding in the midst of all this chaos. So he did his best to shove down his worry and fears. That was the least he could do for her.

Though his palms were still sweaty when he took the canteen from her.

\---

_“Careful what you wish for, Lieutenant.”_

B’Elanna’s words still rang in his ears, and, even though she was long gone, Tom stared at the doors of the turbolift as if he could still see her. Make some sense of her.

He switched his PADD from one hand to the other, suddenly aware of the moisture building on his finger tips. He wiped them on his sleeve

Why did her words make him feel nervous? No.. not nervous. Actually, he wasn’t sure what they made him feel, but it was something. It had _always_ been something with B’Elanna. Good or bad. Sexual tension or… something else. He wasn’t sure anymore.

At least not on her part. He knew where he stood, he had spent too long unraveling the tangle of feelings he had for her. Dissecting when they had started, when they had changed, and what it all meant. He reached up absently and ran his fingers over his mouth, lips _still_ burning from her kisses.

He shook himself as the turbolift arrived at its destination.

Tom nodded to Tuvok as he stepped onto the Bridge. He tried to act calm, collected, his usual easygoing self as he passed off his PADD to Chakotay, the weekly conn report. Only he couldn’t stop thinking about B’Elanna. About her words -- _had_ they been a promise? -- and about what had almost happened between them on that damned planet. As he took his position at the helm, he found he could barely focus on the console in front of him.

“Bring us about, Mister Paris,” Janeway’s voice echoed dully behind him.

“Yes, ma’am,” was his absent reply, wiping his still sweaty palms against his pant legs before attempting to focus on the readouts before him.

\---

His palms are sweating. Rather profusely.

Tom scrubs them against his hips as he sucks in a deep breath. It's a luxury, the memory of the leaking tanks, the lack of oxygen still fresh in his mind. But so is B’Elanna’s face...the last thing he thought he would see. Her words, almost too good to be true, haven’t been far from his mind since he woke in sickbay three days ago.

His palms start sweating again. He shakes out his hands, flexes his fingers and signals his presence outside her door.

He just hopes it’s the right move, and reminds himself that she had fled from the Doctor, not him. Or so he thinks -- hopes. All the bravado from before is gone, probably because he’s had time to actually think about it, and worry about the myriad of ways he could still fuck this up.

The doors slide open with the familiar whoosh, and his breath leaves him in much the same manner. She’s standing in the middle of her quarters, looking surprisingly timid. Tom steps inside, letting the doors close behind him.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey.”

Silence descends on them, and he tries desperately to get his brain to work. _Come on, Paris,_ he thinks sourly. _Where’s that loud mouth of yours when you need it?_

“I love you too,” he finally blurts. Startled brown eyes meet his, but something in her shoulders relaxes nonetheless. “You know, in case that wasn’t obvious… back there.” He waves a hand, aware of how his lips still tingle from her kiss. Just like they had for days after the whole Pon Farr business.

B’Elanna’s mouth twitches in amusement before she schools her face into something more dignified. “I had gotten that impression.”

“Okay, good.” Tom nods, mouth working as he tries to voice the rest of his thoughts. “Since we’re being honest, and you didn’t think I would reciprocate, I just want to be clear that those feelings have been there for a long time.”

That surprises her, apparently. He watches as her brows shoot up, lips pursing together with a whispered, “oh.”

“I know I’ve never been subtle, about liking you, but none of it was ever just about getting into your pants. I mean it kind of was--is--but that’s not... _shit_.” He rubs a hand down the side of his face.

She laughs at that. At him. He supposes it’s better than her decking him, although he’s certain that’s the least he deserves. Instead B’Elanna steps forward, looks up at him with hooded eyes.

“Exactly how long is a ‘long time’?” she asks, thankfully saving him from himself, and he relaxes.

“Uh, longer than I should probably admit to.” He offers her a wry smile. She returns it, and something about it is like permission. Tom lifts his hand, lays it gently on her waist. At the contact, B’Elanna shifts herself even closer, pressing flush against him, and raises her left hand to pat his chest in a cajoling manner.

“Well, lieutenant, looks like we’ll have to start making up for lost time.” Her hand slides up his chest, snakes around the back of his neck and pulls him forward as she rocks onto her toes to meet his lips. Frankly, it sounds like the best plan she’s ever had.

Unfortunately, her comm sparks to life and the Captain’s voice rings out. “Janeway to Torres.”

Pulling back, B’Elanna frowns at him before wetting her lips and hitting her badge, “Torres here.”

“We’ve received a distress call. I’ll need you to accompany the doctor on an away mission.”

B’Elanna tilts her head back, takes a deep breath through her nose. “I’m on my way, Captain. Torres out.” As soon as the connection ends, she reaches out and grips the front of his uniform, forcefully yanks him down for another kiss.

“You’re off tonight, right?” she asks against his mouth.

He blinks, slightly dazed. “Um, yeah?”

“Good. I have plans for you.” B’Elanna pecks him again, and releases her grip. She takes a moment to look around, finding her toolkit and picks it up before striding toward the door.

Tom turns around slowly, eyes narrowing as he crosses his arms. “And what exactly might those plans be?”

She stops and looks back at him, her gaze traveling deliberately from head to toe and back again. Tom’s certain he’s never felt more like a piece of meat in all his life. He probably shouldn’t admit he finds it kind of thrilling.

Her smile is distinctly Klingon when she finally meets his gaze again. “Use your imagination, flyboy.”

With that she disappears through the door, and Tom let’s out a frustrated groan. How is he gonna make it through an entire shift in sickbay with _that_ on his mind? He covers his face with both hands, and takes a deep breath.

At least, he muses, his palms had stopped sweating.


End file.
